Page 56 of One-Time Shot
“You’re out there to win, and I saw that spirit in every damn one of you,” Coach Beekman bellowed. “Let’s keep it up, boys. Oh, one more thing. We have a visitor—Walker fromWhat’s New, Smithton?asked for a quick postgame interview and PR thinks it’s a good idea.”
We turned on cue to the bubbly redhead in the doorway aiming his cell at the locker room. The cheers were replaced by mild jeers.
“Be nice, boys,” Coach warned. “On three…Bears!”
Someone yelled, “Three, two, one!”
“Bears!”
The lockers rattled at the resoundingwhoop. My knee wasn’t even bugging me now. I was riding a sweet high that couldn’t be dampened by irritating things like the overeager dude shoving a microphone in my face.
“Hi, there. I’m Walker and I gotta tell you, I’m a huge fan.”
“Thanks.”
“I know this is your final season at Smithton. Any idea what comes next?”
I shook my head as I pulled my pads off. “No.”
His smile faltered, but he rallied. “What’s your favorite postgame snack?”
“Now, that’s a good question. Bear Depot’s fries are awesome. Oh, and a friend of mine makes a good brownie. Out of a box, but still tasty.”
Walker held his hand up for a high five. “Thank you for your time. Ty Czerniak, mind if I ask…”
I snickered at Ty’s put-upon expression and continued undressing.
“Erickson, I want to see you,” Coach barked from the exit. “Take a shower and meet me in my office.”
“Yes, sir.”
Was that odd?
Yeah…kinda.
Coach wasn’t the type to hold back positive or negative critiques in a public forum. But I wasn’t worried. I’d been playing like a beast, and that last assist tonight had been a master class in patience. Whatever he wanted couldn’t be bad.
Wrong.
“I want an MRI on that knee.”
“Coach?”
“You didn’t really think I wouldn’t notice, did you?” He crossed his arms over his barrel chest and narrowed his eyes. “I thought better of mentioning it in front of a guy who wants to share some insider hockey gossip with the entire damn school, but I hear you’ve been in for massages, asking for extra tape, and icing the hell out of it. If you have a tear?—”
“I don’t.”
“Or a sprain,” he continued as if I hadn’t interrupted. “You gotta deal with it. What are you afraid of? A little rest never hurt anyone, Erickson.”
“I can’t rest yet. I don’t have a contract.” My pulsing knee mocked me as I chewed on my lower lip. “I’ve had a few setbacks, but I’m doing better now and?—”
“Get the MRI. Schedule it with the trainer. We’ll talk Monday.”
Fuck.
CHAPTER19
JETT